Rev. Erudite Redneck, B.S., B.S., M.A., M.Div.

:::::UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE:::::
Bailey is resting comfortably in the laundry room, with a pain pill in his belly, feed and water, and a soft bath towel for his sensitive bobo. The "thing" was sent off for diagnosis. The doc said he'd never seen anything like it, that it looked like a small porcupine had taken up residence just under the skin of Bailey's left "arm." Cost for the surgery, heart worm tests for him and Riker, meds and etcetera: $496. He is snoring loudly. The poor thing.
::::: END UPDATE:::::

When Bailey was a puplet, I set one boundary for him. He was not to go into the garage when I had the side door open to the yard. I trained him not to cross the threshold.

The other day, I was carrying bags of topsoil from the garage, through the door to the back yard. On about the 10th trip, Bailey made a run for it!

I was heaving a 40-pound bag and here he came, zipping around me, slobbery tongue wagging out one side of his mouth, hauling little weinie dog butt! I didn't even think. I took off after him -- then realized: The door was still open. Would Riker, the regal Pembroke Welsh corgi, make a break for it, too?

I hesitated, keeping an eye on Bailey, and hollering at Dr. ER. She finally figured out I was calling her name, and came out just as Riker tiptoed through the door, through the garage and out into the front yard. He went right to his mommy.

By then, Bailey was in the second yard over. So, adrenaline pumping, tired from hefting bags of soil and working in the yard for half a day, in my big clompy work boots, I galumphed after him. By the time I caught up with him, he was in the third yard down.

Now, Bailey ain't fast but he's ziggy and zaggy. I'd get right up on him and zig! Missed him! Then I'd get up on him again and zag! There he went!

He zigged and zagged and to'd and fro'd but I finally got right on top of him and he stopped and looked up at me and I SEIZED him by the fat. Just reached down and picked him up with a wad of fat in each hand.

I hefted him up and huffing and puffing, with pain in my chest, my legs rubbery and my head splitting, I marched him right back to the house, through the garage and out the door. I sat him right down where he belongs, turned, went back into the garage, closed the door, then went to the porch and collapsed on a bench.

I FREAKED when he got loose. I RAN harder than I had in 15 years at least to CATCH him. I hollered for Dr. ER for assistance, but I was willing to take the chance that Riker would get loose, too, to be able to pursue Bailey. I figured, rightly, that Riker would be easier to corral than Bailey. I know my dogs.

When I caught up to Bailey, I GRABBED him. I didn't scold him. I didn't sweet-talk him. I didn't love on him. This was a rescue mission. I didn't say a thing to him. And when I got him back to the house, I just plopped him down where he belongs. I was HAPPY to do so.

And that's the Parable of the Lost Weinie Dog. (Compare Jesus's Parable of the Lost Sheep.)

If we sneak out of the fold of faith, God FREAKS. God RUNS to CATCH us. God GRABS us. God RESCUES us. Then God PLOPS us back where we belong.

God doesn't SCOLD us. God doesn't SWEET-TALK us. God COMES AND GETS US -- even taking the chance that others in God's fold might tiptoe out. And God is HAPPY to do so.

I know my dogs. God knows us infinitely better. My singular purpose on this planet when Bailey escaped was to SAVE him. That's the meaning of the Parable of the Lost Weinie Dog -- and the Parable of the Lost Sheep.

When we wander out of the fold of faith, chasing us down and bringing us back is God's singular purpose.

Bailey goes under the knife in about an hour. He is going to have a "thing" removed from what Bird calls his "arm." It's a cyst on his front left leg.

Happy-happy thoughts, please, for loveable but simple Bailey, who should have a short yellow doggie hospital gown.

(Read a lesson in Grace from Ice-T here.)

--ER